


The Center Cannot Hold

by concertconfetti



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, character work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: Rez Niranath has a bad history with taverns and High Elves who write pretty poetry





	The Center Cannot Hold

“I thought drow would be bigger.” It’s the same thing in every tavern, in every town; Rez grew used to the sidelong stares and the muffled slurs long ago. Though she is small, she is mighty - it was something her mentor used to say to hire her out for performances. (Rez was the only bard that needed promotion from the local College.) 

Anyway, it was the same routine. Calson would get her hired by some tavern in the boonies, promising a voice. (Calson had stopped promising stories when Rez threatened to burn her lore book.) She could sing and would command a large enough audience, if only because she was a novelty in most places. 

“You’ve clearly never seen drow out here.” Rez doesn’t look up from her mandolin. “Which is fair considering you’re a bit out o the way, mostly farmers. There isn’t visible access to the Underdark either.” 

“They said you sing.” This happens every time, too. People on the surface don’t like talking about the people below. Rez may not remember the people, but she remembers the Faerzress, the slight shine of crystals in the walls; she remembers wanting to see the sun. She remembers the Underdark. 

“Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

—

She wears her hair short, a braid resting on the crown of her head. Scars crisscross her legs from sleeping on roof tops. The pigment is leaching from her knees, her elbows, parts of her face. Not that most people notice - when an obsidian creature turns a sickly grey color, most people attribute it to sickness or her beastly nature. Not too much sunlight.

Rez loves the sunlight. She basks in it, hiding under trees and reading old notes from her instructors. She writes, occasionally, to keep Calson happy. Her lore book is filled with songs she sang growing up, songs about loss and the pains of love. She has a poem stuffed in that fell out of Avaras’ pack once. 

[i]crystals in the walls for stars in the sky[/i]

Avaras was good with words, but he would never understand.

—

Something in her distrusts high elves. Usually, when humans ask, she makes a joke about how they’re all haughty. Blow smoke up their own asses. Hatred is in her DNA, after all. This usually gets a laugh, maybe someone buys her a drink, and she can move on with her life. 

It’s dark when they come, it’s always dark. The city guard isn’t prepared, they haven’t gotten all of the kids out. The Kids. They will not grow up below the surface. 

Rez is running, quarterstaff in hand, behind a herd of children when she sees him, silver hair gleaming in the fire he is setting. When he staff connects with his face, she’s not even thinking about the children any more.

“Rezen?” The voice above her is light, flitty in an irritating way. Using her stage name, as well, so whatever he’s after it’ll cost him.

“Who’s asking?” Rez looks up, and briefly meets eyes with a high elf, a caster by the looks of him, holding a book and quill. 

“I’m -”

“Not interested, please leave.” The elf’s face falls, and Rez returns to her mandolin. “I’m not talking unless you’ve got coin.”

“Is it true you took out an entire raiding party?” 

Rez sighs and gathers her things. She can feel the caster watch her leave the tavern, but he doesn’t follow. Smart man. 

Rez hates High Elves.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember much about the context of this piece - I wrote it about 2 and a half years ago now so. Yeah. Here it is!


End file.
